The White Streak
by Morhighan
Summary: What happened in those fifteen years that Benjamin Barker remained banished? How did he come to be Sweeney Todd? What happened to his sanity, and how did he get that white streak in his hair?
1. Introduction

Standard Disclaimer applies, thanks for reading.

The White Streak

-----

Introduction

-----

Benjamin Barker stared forlornly at the bars in his prison. The moonlight washed over his skin and lit the small room before it was extinguished once more by London's dreary cloud cover.

He let out another sigh. Freedom came at dawn. The trial earlier that day had ensured it. He wasn't even allowed to go to the courtroom. That slimy Judge Turpin had told him the official sentence after the trial. The Judge had been the only person allowed to visit him, but Barker could have done without seeing him. Yes, the morrow's freedom brought only sorrow to him, for he was now banished from England, his only home. They'd ship him off to Australia, where he'd never be heard from again.

Judge Turpin had plotted Barker's demise so well, making sure that Barker wasn't even allowed to hold correspondence with his wife, Lucy. He could not even see his child. Once more a melancholy fell upon Barker. No one deserved what he had gotten, so why him?

He sighed once more, the last thing he remembered that night.


	2. Banishment

Standard disclaimer applies. Etc. Blah.

The White Streak

---

Chapter I -

---

The harsh morning light broke through the barred windows,, waking Benjamin Barker. The guards would come to retrieve him soon, he realized with despair as he sat up, stiff from sleeping on the hard bench. He stood, aware of the fact that it was his last day in London. Stepping onto the bench, he looked forlornly out of the window onto the fog filled city. From his perspective in the Bridewell Prison, he could see the River Thames. The sun blazed red as it rose into the clouds, and despite its brightness he remained at the window, squinting through the glare at the city that was his home. London. The sun's color reflected off of the water, the ships in the wharf, and the surrounding buildings, making London appear to be covered in blood. This disturbing illusion only added to Barker's ghastly mood until he finally forced himself to look away.

As he sat on the hard stone bench once more, he closed his eyes, the ghost image flickering before his shut off vision, that moment burning itself into his mind. He sat in this manner until the sound of footsteps fell on his ears. His eyes opened slowly as the guards approached. The imprinted vision had cleared and he now watched the guards as they unlocked his cell.

"Come on, you," one of the two guards commanded him in a gravelly voice. The other said nothing, only signaled for Barker to step forward.

Barker stood. "Is there any way that I might see my wife and child?" He asked evenly. Benjamin Barker was always known for his calm and benevolent temperament.

"Judge 'urpin warned us abou' yeh. Slippery dog, says 'e," the second guard piped up in thick Cockney. "Ye won' get 'ny chances te 'scape, see, 'e'll be shor'ff tha'."

Despair seized Barker. "Please gentlemen, I implore you," he said, raising his hands in an almost begging manner. _How could any person have been so cruel?_

The first guard, the less talkative of the two, took advantage of his upraised hands and shackled Barker's wrists roughly, dragging the now limp man through the door.

"Please, please, I beg! Show mercy—Show mercy..." Barker repeated weakly as the guards pulled him through the hall.

"Stop yer croonin' won't yeh? Such troublin' 'o us may make times 'arder fer yeh." The Cockney guard demanded as he brusquely dragged Barker by his arms.

Barker's please only softened in time with the hope that he lost.

Barker woke, dazed. He felt himself being dragged by the arms and the wooden floor beneath him seemed to move. The last thing he had remembered was being told to "Shu' i'." The back of his head ached as the world swam before him. Upon looking up, he suddenly he felt ill. He was on a ship. The ship that would take him from his life, his home, everything he knew. He shifted, dazedly delusioned in to thinking of an escape attempt.

"Come to, 'ave we?" he heard the Cockney ask. "Good. Now we can be rid o' yeh."

Barker didn't understand the man's words to their full extent until he saw the floor disappear into darkness beneath him as he was hauled up into to standing. He was now standing before the opening of the cargo hold of the vessel, he realized.

"The brig's a bi' full, so wul be droppin' yeh off 'ere."

He plummeted into the darkness, his stomach wrenching, unable to brace himself due to his arms being shackled together. Impact was hard. He lay still, trying to assess how injured he was from the fall.

Whatever he had landed on was fairly hard, but flat without sharp edges. Whatever it was--being softer than the floor--had provided Barker with a bit of a cushion. He sneezed as it let off a white dust. The sneeze made his body spasm in pain. His ribs were definitely the worst off, along with his head. Both would bruise fairly badly, he could tell, but it didn't seem that he had broken anything. For a time he lay there, feeling the movement of the ship as it carried him within its bowels. He supposed that it was a merchant ship, since it seemed that the bags he had landed on contained flour.

He briefly wondered how life on the sea would be for him, before giving up on thought to resign himself to listening and feeling the waves.


	3. Monotony

A/N: Standard disclaimer, etc. Blah. Ok, boring stuff out of the way…

First of all I'd like to thank all of those who commented and added this story. And then I'd like to respond to the comments I can:

Marie S Zachary: I'd love to hear your ideas and I'm glad that you thought it was so good.

PhantomVarg: Thank you, I'm glad. I'll be getting things up quicker, I hope.

Awahili: I didn't find any either. Hey, I'd love to see it if you wrote one, though. Will do.

sasunaru-lover1029: Haha, alright. Thank you.

saphirefox-irl: Sure thing

iPod Junkie: Thank you. Me too, seeing as how things pop unexpectedly in my head.

incarnate of evil: Haven't the foggiest. We'll have to see, won't we? Sure thing.

UnkeptMind Thank you! Me too. Hm, I'll have to use that nickname for him later on.

Thanks for reading!

Oh, and sorry about the shortness. It'll get longer later.

---

The White Streak

---

Chapter II - Monotony

---

Life on the ship was monotonous. Barker remained in the dark hold for an unknown amount of time, days only being marked by receiving his rations of a slop that was some cross of soup and oatmeal.

All he could think of was his beloved wife and daughter. He would find a way back to them, somehow,

Barker had recovered completely, and was healthy enough to pace about the hold, sometimes jumping to look out to the main deck, only to have his fingers trodden on as he hung from the bars. Mostly he sat, brooding in the dark.

One day a patch of light came from one of the walls, accompanied by creaking. A door had opened. Barker knew from exploring the area many times that the door was the only way in or out besides the grate above him. Food was delivered and dishes and buckets of refuse were taken from there, most likely because they didn't know whether or not he was sane, and decided to be safe.

A man stood in the doorway. "Benjamin Barker?" He called cautiously.

Barker walked calmly out of the shadows he had fled into at the arrival of his unexpected visitor. "Yes," he croaked out in affirmation. After so many days of disuse, he had almost lost the ability to speak.

"Come with me then, lad," the sailor told him grabbing onto Barker's chained arms. They went deeper in to the ship until they reached a celled paddock.

"'ere's where you'll be staying, mate."

Barker said nothing, only stared at the brig while the sailor unshackled his arms. "Thank you," he croaked, massaging his blistered wrists as the sailor pushed him into the cell. As the door closed and locked behind him, he observed his new living space.

"Not much one for talkin', is ye?" The sailor asked with a chuckle.

"One would think I'd forgotten how to," Barker croaked ruefully with a slight smirk on his face. He had to briefly wonder where the smirk had come from, as he rarely did so in England. It was all smiles back in the place he belonged, after all.

The sailor chuckled, breaking his reverie. "Ye ain't forgot yer humor though, it seems, lad. Though I can imagine you forgot yer voice. Yeh were so quiet we fergot yeh was in the hold."

Barker did not reply, and said nothing for a time, so the sailor respectfully left him to his thoughts.


End file.
